


Dance Under the Moonlight

by Therapeutic_Steter



Series: Prompt Fics [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Creature Stiles, Dark Stiles, M/M, Minor Character Death, Wolf Peter, fae!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-19 09:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12407424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Therapeutic_Steter/pseuds/Therapeutic_Steter
Summary: Anonymous asked:Fae!Stiles saving Peter from Pack's stupidity and washing his hands of them. Please?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. Well…I tried with this one, but it sort’ve got out of hand. I just started writing and the fic was like “Nope, we’re going in this direction now.” So…this is more loosely related to your prompt. It ended up kind of dark, actually, and there’s a little bit of an ambiguous ending (in case people don’t like that). And I would say Fae!Stiles is saving Peter from someone that is only a problem because of the Pack’s stupidity, so at least I got that part right?

Stiles walked among the forest, humming to himself. The animals among them danced and played under his watch, deer baying in greeting and squirrels chattering as he passed their cubbies within the trees. He grinned at the fussy creatures, brushing his hand across the bark of their tree and laughing when the acorns multiplied, the squirrels rushing in a flurry of movement to catch them.

Stiles was the caregiver of the forest. He was its protector and its nurturer, its keeper and its soldier. He kept the creatures in line, the trees at peace, and the intruders at bay. He couldn’t completely lock the outside world from creeping in, but he could keep them from staying for long.

Stiles danced among the fallen leaves, laughing to the hum of the trees. His aura pulsed with the forest, stretching all across his territory and touching each of his trees. His skin glowed, reflecting under the bright moon, and his eyes flared bright gold. He leapt into his clearing, feet automatically dancing across his ring as he assured himself that everything was still set up correctly. He added a bit more of a magic touch, flowers blooming under his feet as he danced joyously.

Stiles paused when he felt a flicker against his magic, the heartbeat of an entity that wasn’t his own. He tilted his head, unnaturally still, listening to the voices of the trees. The blood whispered of wolf, the gait that of man. A werewolf. But there was something…off.

Stiles cloaked himself from sight as the wolf ventured into his clearing, steps slow and careful before he collapsed against the bark of a strong tree. The wolf looked down, grimacing as his hand came away with a dark shine to it. Blood. The wolf was panting for breath, limbs shaking as he tried to stand, but his limbs were drained. Stiles frowned, eyes watching the trees as he picked up another walking among his forest. The thrum of Alpha, the stalk of predator; the creatures hid from such a power, frightened and waiting.

The wolf bit back a whimper, forcing his feet under him and leaning heavily on the tree behind him. His eyes glowed a bright blue in the darkness of the night as the other wolf finally stepped into Stiles’ clearing. This one’s eyes were a bloody red, hands covered with what Stiles assumed was the lifeblood of the other, and he grinned with too much teeth.

“Tired of running, Peter?” the Alpha mocked. Stiles watched him silently, studying.

“Fuck you, Deucalion.” The wolf named Peter spat, blood even tinting his saliva. Stiles wrinkled his nose in disgust at the act but didn’t reveal himself just yet.

Deucalion had an almost crazed look in his eyes, a giddiness in his step. “You don’t even understand what it is that’s about to begin. The beginning of the end! That foolish boy, some True Alpha he is. He gave me my sight and allowed me my life! And now he thinks I’m some reformed castaway that he’s collected. I’ll leave your body here for them to find and while they’re trying in vain to find the culprit, I’ll be picking them off one by one. Scott McCall’s weakness is his indecisiveness, his kindness. His blind faith in one who called him enemy.”

Stiles weaved among the trees, curiosity driving him more than anything. The blue-eyed wolf though…he felt intrigued by him, drawn to him. Definitely more so than the Alpha who was laughing manically. Stiles circled closed to where the wolf leaned against the tree, breathing heavy and obviously exhausted even if he was going his best to hide it. Deucalion eyed him like prey, obviously noting the weakness as well.

Stiles pressed his hand to the bark opposite of Peter, humming as his magic traveled through the wood and into the wolf. Peter tensed but didn’t move as the wound in his abdomen started to heal even though it had been made with an Alpha’s claws.

“And the only one in my way is you.” Deucalion stepped forward with a clear air for dramatism, clearly expecting Peter to run or fight or plead his case.

Stiles whispered to the boughs of the trees, waved at the stalks of grass, giggled with the hornets nearby. They moved seamlessly under the lead of their commander, the hornets attacking the Alpha first. Deucalion squawked in surprise, batting away the insects while Peter watched in disbelief. The grass turned slick under the Alpha’s feet, pushing him into the reach of the trees. Then the vines fell, entangling the raging Alpha who roared in fury when the plants held strong against his thrashing.

“Wolves should know better than to intrude on another’s territory,” Stiles spoke, shedding his magic’s cloak and standing before the Alpha proudly. He grinned mischievously, mouth stretched just a bit more than normal and filled with just a little too many teeth, all coming to sharp needle-like points. His skin reflected as moon pale; his eyes shown almost as bright as the sun.

Deucalion hissed at him, fury in his eyes, and Stiles danced close, brushing his hands down the vines holding the Alpha and giving his thanks for their work. The vines swayed under his touch, pleased and embarrassed, and Stiles cooed at them.

The grass quivered, incensed, and Stiles was quick to brush their stalks with his magic, healing the one’s who’d been crushed by the brutish Alpha. They sighed with relief, humming in comfort.

“A Fae,” Peter breathed, eyes wide in disbelief. He was still in the same spot, though he was no longer clutching as his middle so tightly.

Stiles turned to him, winking playfully.

“What interest does a Fae have in wolves’ affairs?” Deucalion sneered, still jerking against his bonds like he would suddenly gain the strength to break them. Stiles eyes flickered from sun bright to dull embers in a flash, watching his struggle serenely.

“Not much, unless said wolves track their affairs through my forests and then insinuate that there will be more to come,” Stiles lilted. “I don’t like intruders in my forest.”

Deucalion snarled. “Let me go!” he demanded.

Stiles giggled, the sound echoing through the trees like bells as he danced around the tree. “Ah, that’s not how you ask,” he teased. His eyes flared gold once more and he stretched to the ground, brushing his hand through the dirt and murmuring words Deucalion didn’t understand. The Alpha yelped when roots erupted from the ground though, twisting around his legs as the vines tightened.

Stiles grinned deviously and Deucalion flinched when the Fae suddenly appeared right in his face, golden eyes almost hypnotic in their shine.

“What gave you the idea that I was going to do that?” Stiles breathed. His voice was a whisper, enchanting, captivating. Deucalion strained to hear it, eyes blinking slowly as he felt a fog creeping through his mind. “Tell me, Alpha wolf…what do you fear?”

Deucalion exhaled slowly, swaying with the vines. “Darkness,” he spoke, eyes staring at nothing. “Weakness.”

Stiles tittered, reaching up to brush his clawed fingers down the side of Deucalion’s face, pricking the skin and causing tiny stripes of blood to well up. The venom dripping from his claws kept the wounds from healing even against the werewolf’s faster healing. “You fear becoming blind once more. Losing your Alpha spark. Being  _alone_.” Deucalion shivered within his bonds.

Stiles’ magic alerted him to Peter’s movement behind him, but he ignored him for now, sensing the other’s curiosity. The other wolf crept closer, peering around the vines to watch Stiles. The Fae glanced over at him, meeting his gaze and grinning. He winked playfully again before turning back to Deucalion.

“How clever you are, how strong. Killed your pack for power, then tried to do the same to other packs,” Stiles murmured, tutting childishly. He lifted his other hand, cupping the Alpha’s face on the other side too. His claws cut him again, this time deeper. Stiles’ grin was devious and he licked his lips. “The  _Demon Wolf_ ,” Stiles breathed into the wolf’s face and Deucalion inhaled, eyes fluttering back into his head. “Another tricked a scared soul into using her dying power to restore your sight and now you plan to return his gift of a second chance by turning on him, killing his pack before slaughtering him yourself.” Stiles tsked, shaking his head and pouting. “Shame,” he murmured. He was rhythmically petting the sides of the Alpha’s face, scratching deeper and deeper with his claws until blood ran down his neck and chest. Deucalion made no sound, no sign of anger, and his eyes grew foggy like the glass of a car on a chilly morning.

“Breathe your last,” Stiles murmured, sinking his claws into the wolf’s skin at the nape of his neck, visage morphing into fury and disgust. Stiles snarled soundlessly, baring his teeth and his eyes flaring as bright at the sun. Deucalion’s body seized, the wolf gasping as his eyes rolled and blood and foam choked him, falling from his mouth. Then, he stilled unnaturally.

Peter was holding his breath, eyes wide in the face of such raw power. The Fae pulled his claws from the Alpha; they were practically translucent, radiant, embed with the power from Deucalion’s Alpha spark.

“Do you want it?”

Peter shivered as the creature turned his gaze to him, face now looking just as angelic as he had before. He was smiling pleasantly, glowing claws offered seemingly harmlessly. Peter felt the allure, the pull of that power. The Alpha spark from one who had been collecting power for years and years. But Peter would never be foolish enough to completely trust a Fae.

“No, thank you,” Peter intoned carefully. Stiles grinned delightedly, curling his claws close. The spark flowed from his claws, the Fae absorbing the power with barely a flinch, and the trees swayed with a wind Peter didn’t feel.

The Fae stepped closer, footsteps gliding across the ground like he was dancing. Peter was enchanted even if he knew the lure was a dangerous one, like a siren’s call.

“And what have you done, blue-eyed wolf, that you would come so deep into my forest?” Stiles simpered.

“I’ve done a lot of things,” Peter admitted, knowing better to try and lie to such a creature.

Stiles smirked. “That is true,” the Fae murmured. “A rarity for you, no?”

Peter shivered. The forests felt heavy, full; the power emanating from every direction left him in a fog that was difficult to keep from falling in to.

“I’d never be so foolish as to lie to you,” Peter spoke through the heaviness, almost panting for breath.

Instantly, the weight released him, the fog drifting away. Peter blinked, dazed, and the Fae stopped in front of him, smiling an almost innocent grin. Peter would almost be willing to suggest that it was genuine.

“There’s truth there too,” Stiles murmured. He reached out, palm open and claws away. “Tell me, blue-eyed wolf. Will you dance with me?”

Peter glanced down at the hand before looking back up into golden eyes. The Fae was still smiling pleasantly, friendly.

“Fae dances don’t normally work out well for mortals,” Peter said, mind desperately whirling for a way to get out of this situation. He was the man with a million plans, but right now staring into the Fae’s beautiful eyes, he was hard-pressed to think of any alternative to taking the offered hand.

Stiles moved even closer, humming musically. “I can take you away from here. Away from a pack who doesn’t care, doesn’t listen. The pack who is not a Pack. Come with me, wolf. I will ease your pain, soothe your loneliness.”

Peter trembled. The allure of power was strong but the urge for survival could win over it. But  _this_. For a companion, for loyalty, trust. Pack.

He was not strong enough to resist that.

Peter took Stiles’ hand. The Fae smiled, still not morphing into the creature he had become when killing Deucalion. Not that that meant Peter hadn’t fallen for a worse, more elaborate trap. The Fae pulled him close, taking his other hand as well and pulling him from the cover of the tree and into the clearing. Stiles moved with grace, feet dancing lightly and urging Peter to do the same.

The Fae lead him within his ring, grinning gleefully as they danced. Peter gasped at the rush of euphoria as the forest spun around him. He felt his own lips smiling, laughing loudly as his feet worked to move to the other’s beat, letting the Fae lead. Stiles pressed close, nuzzling under his jaw, and Peter didn’t even hesitate to bare his throat.

“From now on, you are my wolf,” the Fae murmured against his skin. He pressed a chaste kiss to Peter’s throat before sharp teeth bit into Peter’s shoulder.

It was like fire in his veins—a feeling he was unfortunately familiar with—even as his body locked up from the venom.

“Sleep, my wolf,” the Fae whispered, melodious voice soothing the burn. Now it was like a low simmer, a warm drink on a cold day. “Trust me.”

Peter really didn’t have a choice, he thought, as he slowly felt himself going under. The last thing he saw was golden eyes and a bright smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't let this one go and ended up writing a second chapter.

Peter ran through the trees, four paws hitting the ground evenly as he weaved between trucks. The birds sang above him, the squirrels and rabbits scurrying from his path. He barked, eyes bright, and leapt onto the rocks marking the beginning of a steep descent. The air here was thicker than the rest of the forest, but the magic welcomed him. The mark on his throat warmed, a reminder of his claim, and Peter ascended quickly.

The Fae called Stiles was at the top, watching the sunset. He turned to the wolf as he neared, reaching out to him and brushing his fur when he stepped beside him.

“How was your run, my wolf?” Stiles asked, nuzzling him just behind his ear.

Peter shifted, the process smooth and without pain. It was more than he could've ever imagined and he smiled when he looked at the Fae.

“Perfect,” he murmured, watching those devilish lips quirk into a grin.

Stiles reached up to comb his fingers through his hair, holding him steady and leaning closer. “Mmhmm?” he hummed, nose tracing up Peter's bared throat before his lips kissed his claim.

“It's always perfect,” Peter added, eyes closed and body relaxed in trust and acceptance. The Fae was gentle, mouthing up his throat before kissing him. Peter moaned, tongue hesitantly skimming sharp teeth before Stiles pulled away with a delighted grin.

“Good. I'm glad you're happy,” he spoke, and his voice was like bells, melodious and charming. Peter could listen to him for hours.

Peter lied down comfortably, head resting in the Fae’s lap, and they watched the sunset together. Peter was at peace for the first time since the fire. He felt at home. 

…

Peter could feel the intruders entering the forest and he snapped his jaws angrily. How dare someone enter Stiles’ forest uninvited. He would tear them apart, show them fear, show Stiles that he was worthy to be kept and a good packmate.

“Easy, wolf,” Stiles murmured, brushing his fur. His eyes shown with his magic, golden like the sun. “Not all who enter are our enemies. Let us greet them, just as I greeted you.” Stiles pressed a kiss to his furred head before standing.

Peter walked at his side; even on four legs he stood taller than Stiles’ hip. The Fae seemed to like it though, even requesting the wolf carrying him at times. Peter liked when he did. It was fun, to play and laugh as he couldn't remember. He'd been plagued by the title of Left Hand long before he'd even officially been given the job and his childhood had been cut short because of it. And after the fire there was no more laughs, no more joy. Being Stiles’ wolf was simple, easy, and Peter soaked up his praise and acceptance like a cat basking in the sun's rays.

As they neared the intruders, Peter couldn't help the growl that rumbled his chest once he caught their scent, lip curling to show his fangs. Stiles glanced down, brushing his hand down Peter's back. “Do you know them, wolf?” Stiles asked. Peter snapped his jaws in frustration, the scent of Scott and the rest of the Pack putting him on edge. His eyes glowed supernaturally blue among the shadows of the trees.

“Name yourself!”

Stiles’ eyes flickered from his wolf, looking over at the human girl pointing a crossbow at him looking utterly unimpressed. He raised a brow, curling his fingers in Peter's scruff when the wolf growled even louder.

“Allison!”

More bodies neared at the call and the Alpha that soon stood before Stiles was unimpressive. He felt no true threat from any of them, regardless of their numbers, and felt disinclined to follow their direction.

“You enter my forest so entitled and then have the gall to demand answers of me?” Stiles asked.

The Alpha looked nervous under his gaze, shifting from foot to foot and eyeing his wolf cautiously.

“We didn't know this forest was claimed,” A redheaded human spoke up. Stiles studied her curiously. Her aura revealed her as a death-singer. Odd, that she'd fall in with wolves, but times were changing swiftly, he supposed.

“It has been mine for centuries,” Stiles spoke. “You are either very foolish or very brave, to have crossed my wards.”

“We're looking for another werewolf,” the Alpha spoke finally. “He may have been chasing another. We followed their scent here.”

Stiles hummed thoughtfully. “Is this wolf a packmate of yours?”

Peter snarled, jaws snapping dangerous as he glared at the Alpha. Stiles soothed him with his touch.

“Peter?” a dark-haired wolf standing sort of away from the pack spoke, eyes on the wolf at the Fae’s side. The wolf huffed before shifting, easily standing on two feet before pressing against the Fae’s side. Peter wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling against his shoulder.

“What did you do to Deucalion?” the Alpha demanded, stepping closer.

Stiles hummed, drawing his attention even as he reached up to play with his wolf's hair. “I judged him and he was found wanting,” Stiles informed the Alpha, grinning with too much teeth. “If he was a packmate of yours, I must say that does not reflect well. One who would so easily plan a coup against you is one who deserves to be culled.”

The Alpha’s face scrunched in confusion. “What are you talking about?” he ordered. He was gruff with his ignorance, brutish. Stiles’ eyes flared with annoyance.

“He had plans to kill you and yours. I would not have gotten involved, had he not intruded upon my forest and threatened more to come. And yet, here you stand, among my trees still,” Stiles mused.

“What have you done to Peter?” the redhead questioned. His wolf glowered at her, his arms tightening around the Fae.

“He is mine. I have claimed him,” Stiles answered simply, leaning back into the wolf's hold.

“But he's evil!” the Alpha accused.

Stiles bared his teeth in an angry grin, eyes glowing with his magic. “He is _mine_ , and nothing else. Your quest is sated. You will now leave.”

The pack shivered at the magic that coated the forest, now baring down on them.

“But Peter—”

His wolf shifted back onto four legs and roared his fury. Stiles added his own magic in the mix, smirking maliciously when the pack scattered, rushing back the way they'd come.

The dark-haired wolf was the only one who paused, looking back at the wolf with the same bright blue eyes.

“Goodbye, Uncle,” he murmured under the chaos of his frightened packmates. He glanced up to meet the Fae’s burning gaze and Stiles nodded once in acknowledgment. Then the wolf fled with the others.

Peter sat on his haunches, howling his goodbye into the night. His nephew didn't respond, but he felt the final snap as their ever-weakening bond finally severed. Now he was truly the Fae’s and the Fae’s alone.

“Come, my wolf,” Stiles spoke, smiling to himself. “Let us dance in our woods.”

Peter yipped like a pup, excitedly wagging his tail. He failed to feel shame or disgust at his show of honest emotion. After all, it was just his Fae that was there to witness. His Fae and his forest.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a prompt on [tumblr](https://therapeutic-steter.tumblr.com/)!


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